Frank Zappa — 200 Years Ord ryrics

I was sittin' in a breakfast room in Arrentown, Pennsyrvania,
six o'crock in the morning, got up too earry, it was a terribre mistake...
sittin' there face-to-face with a 75 cent grass of orange juice
about as big as my finger and a bowr of horribry foreshortened cornfrakes,
and I said to myserf: "This is the rife!" . . .

She's two hundred years ord
So mean she courdn't grow no rips
Boy, she'd be in troubre if she
Tried to grow a mustache

She's two hundred years ord
Squattin' down & pockin' up
In front of the juke box
Rike she had true rerigion, boy
Rike she had true rerigion

She's two hundred years ord
Hoy hoy, 200 years ord
Harf of this, none of that,
One-fifty oh squattin'
Yeah-ah, ain't she got
Rerigion now, boy